


Seven No More

by X_Force1



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chris needs Piers, Drunk Chris Redfield, Jealous Chris, M/M, MAJOR RE6 changes, Mind Games, Minor Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong, Piers Nivans Lives, Piers needs Chris, Piers struggles, Post-Resident Evil 6, Pre-Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield, Pre-Resident Evil 6, Protective Ada Wong, Protective Chris, Protective Jill, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Secret Crush, Some Humor, Supportive Jill, Trust Issues, Violence, male and male relationship, music therapy, resident evil alternate universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19254883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Force1/pseuds/X_Force1
Summary: Piers Nivans was thought to have died a hero.  A noble sacrifice.  He wakes to then have his mind wiped clean, cleared of infection, enhanced abilities, and under the control of a secret organization known as Cypher.  He has a new alias: Seven.  Seven, now an enhanced that operates as a spy/assassin.  The most feared man in the world.  But no matter how much Cypher cleans his mind, Seven cannot shake off the dreams that shine some light to his past life.  After four years as a servant for Cypher, Seven wants to find the truth.  The truth comes in the shape of his next target: Ada Wong.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I am ignoring most of RE6. No Edonia, no Chris suffering from PTSD amnesia, and Piers' "death" has somewhat changed. Just making more sense of the story and make a new continuation, as well as a better ending for our boys. There will be mention of how my take on RE6 goes. Hey, it is creatve writing and an alternate universe to a degree. Piers becomes somewhat of a Captain America enhanced being. Most of the action takes place in flashbacks and the present is mostly Piers' therapeutic struggle. Oh, and no year mentioned, just takes place four years after RE6. Hope you all enjoy it. I will update as often as I can.
> 
> I don't own Resident Evil/Biohazard or it's characters.

New Orleans, Louisiana

July 17th - Present Time

 

 It was time to check on her condition again. The man known as Seven stepped away from a window he was looking out of for the past hour.

  _Has it been an hour? Must have been daydreaming_.

 It was a gloomy day in New Orleans. Cloudy with no rain. It was a cool morning up until the afternoon when some humidity crept in. The abandoned building once known as Charity Hospital has been a useful hideout for him and the woman known as Ada Wong. The building was housing many homeless. That is, up until he and Ada crashed in to hide out and treat her wounds. A few warning shots scared the homeless away and no one else has dared to venture in for the past two days.

 Seven grew wary of how Ada will recover without professional medical help. He needed to make sure she made it out well. He owed her his freedom and life; therefore, he was protecting and taking care of her as a means of _thank you_. That-and of course the fact that she holds information regarding him.

  _Your name is Piers Nivans_ , he recalled her saying the day they came into the building. He recalled finding a mattress where he lay her down. Ada was in pain. She was refusing to go to a hospital due to their situation. Going to a hospital will likely jeopardize being traced.

 “Your name is Piers Nivans, not Seven,” she said while she clenched the left side of her torso. The pain in her voice sounded as if she was worried she would not make it and she needed to confess what she knew.

  _A name_ , Seven thought or should he think, _Piers_?

 Earlier when he was looking out the window with the view of downtown New Orleans in sight, he continued to reflect on what she said. Piers thought of what more she might know of his former life.

 As far as he can recall, he was a born and bred killer. A spy/assassin to a secret organization known as Cypher. He had no memories. No Family. It was just him and his “family”, Cypher. Up until two weeks ago when he was sent to hunt and kill is new target: Ada Wong.

 Cypher listed her as a traitor and a persistent threat. _Ada Wong must die_.

 But that all changed when he met her. The conversation that commenced before pulling the trigger began with “I know who you are”, from her own mouth as she locked eyes on him.

 Eluding Cypher ever since has not been easy. It almost cost them their lives. And now here they are, hiding out in New Orleans. He needed to make sure she lived to tell him what she knows about his life.

 All Piers can remember is from what he sees and hears in his dreams. The sound of gunfire. Militant marching. An older woman hugging him saying “call me when you’re safe”. The silhouette of a muscular man extending his hand to him. “Great job, Ace,” the man would say. He can see the presence and figure, but not his face. The voice was stern and warm at the same time. Whenever Piers would wake from seeing this man, he would dread that it was a dream. Then it was followed by a longing.

  _Who are you?_

 He might get a chance to find out from Ada. It was time to check on her. If she was up for it, he wanted some answers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. I purposely kept it short but with enough to expose the world Piers has been living in for the past few years. A little bit, but enough. Much like a teaser trailer to the broad picture. To quote Excella Gionne, "enjoy".

  Ada laid on the mattress set on the floor. She was barefoot, swearing dark pants, was shirtless; however, had wrapped bandages around her upper torso to cover her breasts. This was necessary due to some of the wounds on her torso.   She was shot to her left side, as well as resulting with some surface scratches on her shoulders and back. The bleeding from the gunshot wound has stopped, thankfully. Removing the bullet from within was agonizing to say the least. The fever has stopped. However, her back was aching and she had a tightness in her throat. She knew she pushed the bounds this time and was close to death if it was not for Seven’s- _no Piers’_ -actions.

  Ada thought of how she longed for a hot bath, clean clothes, and maybe a body massage when this mess was over. She was thankful the bullet entered the upper left side of her torso bellow her arm pit where a scar can be hidden.

   _Vain much, Ms. Wong?_

  Piers approached her. The open room was dark; however, day light came in through the windows. He could see the discomfort in her face. He was able to treat her injuries with some supplies he purchased from a pharmacy store, along with some essentials: bottles of water, a few clean towels, and canned fruit. He had to be scarce with the remaining cash funds he had. Purchasing with a card could trace his whereabouts, he feared.

  Ada slowly sat up on the mattress as Piers approached.

  “I don’t care if you’re trying to watch your girlish figure Ms. Wong. You will be eating today, whether you are up for it or not,” said Piers as he approached her.

  Ada gave a slight smirk.

  Piers opened a can of fruit cocktail and handed it to her. Ada began to eat slowly with a plastic fork and took small sips from her bottled water. Piers joined her with eating a can of fruit as well. Both sat in awkward silence.

   _Not the Four Seasons, but this will do._

  Ada ate while keeping an eye on Piers. She knew she can trust him to an extent by this time; however, their relationship has been rocky since the jump.

  “Feeling awkward?” Piers started in between chewing.

  “A bit late for that now that you’ve seen me topless, young man,” Ada countered. Piers scuffed. Then they were back to silence for a moment.

  “Thank you,” said Ada as she was looking down at her fruit can. Piers knew she was referring to him helping her and treating her wounds. However, he just simply nodded once she looked up at him.

  “I’ve been an asshole to you,” said Piers. Ada stuck some fruit into her mouth and pointed her fork at him as if stating _that’s right_.

   Piers can agree that he has been cold towards Ada. She went from a target to an ally within seconds. He was opposed to trusting her during their initial encounter, up until he realized that she knew him from before…well, before Cypher.

  Piers stood up, tuned away, and stood still. He understood Ada was in physical pain and still needed medical attention. Physical rest and treating her wounds was all he could do at this point. But he could not help but to feel restless or borderline impatient now that Ada dropped a major hint of who is- _or should he say_ -was. He was beginning to see how Ada Wong operates. Tactical. Persuasive. Charming. Secretive. Selfish. _Deadly_. In a nut-shell, knows her shit and does it well.

  “I’ve been hard on you because…I still don’t know who to trust”, Piers started and then turned to face Ada as she remained sitting on the mattress. “I feel that maybe I _can_ trust you. But how do I know that you aren’t taking advantage of me like everyone else since as far as my memory can recall. For the past few years I have had everyone around me lying to my _goddamn face_. Wanting me to believe what they want me to believe because they know how vulnerable I am without remembering…who I am.”

  They stared at each other for a moment without a word.

  “You and I have a daughter together,” Ada broke the silence.

  “What!” Piers responded.

  “Okay, I lied,” Ada gave a sly smile. Piers tuned away and exhaled hard. “I couldn’t help it, bad joke, but good timing,” said Ada. Piers turned to look at her again with a _don’t cross me bitch_ look.

  “What did they tell you?” she asked. “I mean about your past life or should I say, what they made you believe.”

  “That I couldn’t return to my past life because I committed a crime that cost the lives of many people. That I was a domestic terrorist that betrayed my own country and by working for Cypher could clean my conscious. That-“

  “-you volunteered for this,” she finished. “You volunteered to become their pet to wipe away the crimson from your hands. Didn’t think Cypher would rip a page off of a Marvel storyline to keep you in check.” Silence again. Ada slowly shook her head. “You are no criminal.”

  With that comment, Ada had Piers in her palm again. As much as Piers hated that feeling, he was grateful to hear this. _Not a criminal_ she said. He took a moment to let that sink in. Ada stood up with minimal pain and stood firm before him.

  “You are not a terrorist. You were a noble serviceman that served his country and…they fucked with your mind.”

  Piers picked up the empty fruit can at threw it hard against a wall. Ada did not flinch.

  For the past four years he practically lived like a hermit in an apartment with limited communication with the general public as part of Cypher’s orders and due to his belief that he was a past criminal. The fear of being recognized was a constant plague.

  Was he one of those criminals that the whole world knew? An O.J. Simpson type of pariah that anyone can recognize and tie to a horrible act everywhere he would go?

  The man formerly known as Seven thought back of the shitty life he lived. All he ever did for four years was wait for a phone call and hear someone in the other end say _Seven_ , and it was on. The next mission. He was given minimal instructions and out he went. Cause a spontaneous explosion that the news would report as an accident. Shoot to kill a target and make it look like a suicide or victim to a robbery gone wrong. He never asked why, just following orders. Cypher’s claim was that they operate to take out and neutralize targets that were on the verge of causing havoc on the world. Doing what federal agencies did not have the balls to do. That was where and when Cypher came into the picture. Clean out trash.

  Piers was in some sense grateful that Cypher was helping him wash the blood off of his hands. At least, that was what he thought or made to believe. He could have sworn he saw or heard that line in a movie. Maybe Ada’s comment was not far-fetched? She seemed to be good at fucking with people’s mind.

   _Damn it, it was a Marvel movie._

  The more Ada’s revelation sank into his mind, his blood would boil. He became a slave to Cypher with what it seemed to be no real merit. All this time feeling alone with no sense of family or close friends. No one to talk to for a sense of normalcy. It appeared to be a lie to keep him within their control. At some point he even thought if it was worth it. He was made to believe that the world thought that the man he once was as dead. Dead to the world, but not in fact.  Cypher retrieved him and took him in. Another chance at life for a good cause.

  _Good cause_.

  “Fuck!” he expressed.

  “You have every right to be angry,” Ada offered.

  “Wait. How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” He grabbed her by her shoulders. “Are you bull shitting me _too_?”

  “Stop.”

  “No more mind fucks. Tell me more.”

  “You need to breathe or you're going to pop.”

  “Stop fucking with me. How do you know me?”

  “Damn it, stop!” She pushed him off and stepped back. They stared at each other. Piers was breathing hard. Maybe it was too much for him to bare at the moment. Ada had a point. His mind was going to pop if he knew too much, too soon. She watched him carefully waiting for him to calm down. His hands were shaking, heart racing.

  “You seem to know quite a bit about Cypher,” he began carefully. “How is that?”

  “Because I used to work for them. They killed me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be change of pace by the next chapter. I will begin to address when we are in a present setting and past settings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chris and his anguish. 
> 
> I do not own the rights to "Back Here".

Washington D.C., Maryland

Earlier That Same Day

 

  It was one of those nights, Chris Redfield thought. Chris laid in bed, rubbed his eyes, and then checked the time on his cell phone from his night stand.

  9:45AM

  He had another one of those dreams that made it difficult to go back to sleep earlier before sunrise. The last time of the day he recalled before he was able to doze off again last night was around 3:00AM. Once he woke up after 1:00AM it took two hours to fall back asleep, thanks to the help of the sleeping medication his doctor prescribed.

  Chris laid on his back looking up at the white colored ceiling in his bedroom at home in his underwear while under a thin bedsheet. The ceiling fan still in motion. His thoughts went back to that dream. One of the many persistent dreams about Piers. It haunted him, yet something soothing- _no_ -there was something real about it.

  Chris recalled the dream:

  _It began with him rushing through a hospital hallway. The interior of the hospital had no lights on; however, it was dimly lit with light coming from a fog further down the hallway, almost_ Silent Hill _-like. He was going down the hallway in a hurry because he knew Piers was in the hospital, alive. There was no recollection of how, he just knew Piers was in this hospital._

_He did not see any hospital staff. Once he got to a T hallway area he saw Leon Kennedy at the end with a light smile. Leon pointed for Chris to head right. So Chris went right where it led to another hallway similar as before._

Piers, I’m coming.

_Chris was now running down the hallway. Still no one else in sight as he rushed down. The lit fog at the end showed no end in sight. Still, he persisted. He knew Piers was somewhere in this hospital. It gave him the adrenalin to keep searching._

_The end of the hallway was in sight. It was another T end, only another familiar face was there: Jill Valentine. Jill stood there facing Chris’ direction with a similar smile as Leon’s earlier. She pointed left._

_Chris ventured now to the hallway Jill pointed him to. He continued to run. He could feel his heart racing. He could sense that Piers was close by._

  I’m coming Piers.

_The hallway looked the same as the ones before. Only then a song came into play. Chris could make out that it was BBMak's “Back Here”._

"Baby set me free, From this misery, I can’t take it no more…”

_Chris continued running down the hospital hallway with the never ending lit fog as he heard:_

"Since you ran away, Nothing’s been the same, Don’t know what I’m living for…”

_Then Chris saw another familiar face. It was Claire, his sister. He stopped running as Claire came into view. She was stepping out from a patient’s room. Claire looked right at him and gave him her signature Claire smile. She then pointed to the room she came out from._

_Chris was now standing a few feet away from the doorway to the patient’s room. The room where he knew Piers would be waiting for him. Just as Chris had been anticipating._

_Chris walked steadily into the room. As much as he had been looking for Piers in this dream, his nerves were getting the best of him. The room was no different from any other hospital room. He saw a bed in the room. A light cast over it. That was when he saw him…Piers. Beautiful Piers. Chris took slow strides towards Piers. He observed Piers to be under a bed sheet and wearing a hospital gown. Piers laid on his back with his eyes closed._

_Chris stood beside the bed taking the sight before him._

  I knew you were alive.

_Piers then opened his eyes and slowly turned to look at Chris. His face looked groggy as the ends of his mouth curved. Piers gently lifted his right hand directing it towards Chris. Chris took Piers’ hand. It was electric. He was holding Piers’ hand, just as he had been secretly wanting. What was better was that Piers was alive and back in his life._

_“You found me,” Piers said._

_“I never gave up,” Chris replied as he kissed Piers’ knuckles._

_They both continued to look at each other._

_“This means,” Piers started. “No more searching? Am I finally coming back home?”_

_“I hope so. I was beginning to believe that maybe you really were dead.”_

_Piers’ smile faded._

_“Chris. You need to find me…I want to come home.”_

  That was when Chris woke up. He recalled waking up and looking around thinking that Piers was in the bedroom. After a few seconds of his eyes looking around the then dark bedroom when he realized that it was a dream, not a reality.

  Piers was gone. Dead.

  Chris sat in the middle of his bed with his knees bent up and wrapping his muscular arms around them. He needed to breathe as his therapist suggested whenever dreams, nightmares, or PTSD triggers caused his anxiety to rise. The difference was that this was not a trigger, it was sadness that was hitting him. He wanted so badly for that dream to be a reality. His eyes closed tight to hold his emotions within in an attempt to prevent him from screaming, cursing, or crying as reality sank in.

  There was no Piers Nivans.

  During the two hour event of him trying to ease his emotions and anxiety he used breathing, counting backwards, drank warm milk, and sitting in the dark trying to wrap his mind around his reality before he finally took the sleeping pills.  

  As he laid in bed looking at the ceiling with the morning sunlight brightening up his bedroom he continued to think of the dream. The dreams were beginning to feel…realistic. Chris never dared to refer his dreams of Piers as nightmares. There was nothing dreadful about them, other than the dread of waking up and realizing that Piers was gone.

  “Gone”, he whispered to himself.

  It had been a few years since Piers died. Of course the anniversary having recently passed could have triggered this awful feeling.

  July 1st

  _When I lost you._

  Indeed that was the reality in his life, that Piers was gone. However, the most ludicrous perspective was how 75 percent of Chris Redfield strongly believed that Piers Nivans was still alive. He could not explain it and never tried. Sure, it has been four years since Piers’ death. His body was never found in the rubble. It is believed that it perished in the explosion. A funeral service without a casket or body. It came and went.

  Chris was there during the search for Piers’ body. As well as at the funeral service. Present in body, but not in mind. His mind held on to hope that Piers somehow made it out and was lost. Perhaps with some form of amnesia. Wondering away wounded. Scared. _Infected_.

  Chris never dared to tell anyone of his internal hope of Piers possibly being alive. Unless he recalled an incident when he was visiting Claire in Chicago last New Year’s Day.

  It was way after midnight of New Year’s when Chris was with Claire alone after some of Claire’s friends left her apartment. Chris had done well that night by not drinking too much as part of his “bettering myself” outlook. He nursed two drinks that night while Claire’s guests were around. Once Chris and Claire were alone he had another few drinks with her in the social aspect while they talked and reminisced. It was very late into the night, but they were enjoying each other’s company. Chris wanted to enjoy this time with his sister.

  At some point while they talked, Claire mentioned Piers. By this time Chris had a little more alcohol in him, when his demeanor changed a bit as he heard Claire continue to address Piers in the past tense. It began to bother him, so much that he felt his shoulders clench up and he blurted out:

  “He isn’t dead, Claire.”

  With that, the good time they were having crashed.

  What escalated after was the both of them bickering over what Chris revealed and Claire trying to make Chris come to terms that Piers was dead.

  “Piers is still out there!” Chris said with his fists clenched. He had stood up and paced around in front of Claire. “I can’t explain it-I-I-I know it sounds crazy, but I feel it inside me Claire.”

  Claire just watched and let him vent. She knew he needed this. Chris was pacing around taking glances at her as he ran his hands through his hair. He was in poor shape in her eyes.

  “No, I am not crazy. Nor is this wishful thinking or some false hope bullshit. Something tells me that Piers is out there somewhere. He is either lost or being kept from coming back-coming back to _me_. Look, I can’t explain it. But my heart tells me he is out there, alive. Don’t you get it? He wants to come home Claire. He wants me to find him. He can’t come home. There is…something stopping him…”

  Then he did it. He broke down. He sat on the couch and began to cry. Claire did what he always did for her. She sat by him and wrapped her arms around him. He began to sob. Chris always felt the need to protect her and others. Standing tall, strong, and firm against anything thrown at him. Just as he did when he took care of her when their parents died. Now it was Claire doing it for him.

  He was always good at hiding his pain and emotions from others. Days later after their parents were buried he returned to his duty with the Air Force. One night he went into the restroom where he finally let out his pent up sadness, anger, and harsh reality. He cried without telling a soul about this. He needed to appear strong for Claire. Becoming her caregiver overnight due to losing his parents forced him to grow up right away was nothing he nor anyone can prepare.

  “Chris…he is gone. You can’t live like this.”

  He sobbed. This went on for what felt like an hour. Then at some point Claire said:

  “You were in love with him.” Chris pulled away and looked at her without saying a word. “It’s okay Chris. I know. I always knew.”

  Then Chris cried hard in Claire’s arms. A part of him felt good to release this anguish and say out loud what he had been holding inside for the past few years since losing Piers. That night he began to believe and accept that Piers was dead. There was no other way around it. This whole belief of Piers still alive somewhere was too much to bare. It was a crazy thought.

  But…something inside of him, still held on to that belief. He could not explain it. The dreams did not help either. In the last few months, the dreams about Piers felt more realistic. As if Piers was sending him signs or clues on how to find him. Piers wanted to come home.

  _Stop it._

  Piers is dead.

  He thought of the progress he has been making since Piers left.

  _That’s a good way of putting it. Left._

  Before the New Year’s situation he began to see a therapist. He was diagnosed with Depression, Insomnia, and borderline PTSD; which Chris saw it as a complement of borderline crazy after telling the therapist that he believed that Piers was alive. Yes, Piers was and sometimes continues to be a subject during sessions.

  Drinking. It got better. He cut back on alcohol drastically. Well, he cut back on hard liquor and would socially drink beer. He found other ways to cope with drinking by doing more outdoor activities. Chris was now engaging in long distance outdoor running. Taking vacation trips to places he could walk, run, or hike in the outdoors. It got better.

  Dating. _Next question_.

  As he remained in bed reached over and pulled out the nightstand drawer and took out a BSAA patch from within. He held it in his hand as he gazed at it. His thumb gently rubbed over the patch and over the dried blood on it. Warmth filled his face, but cold emptiness filled his chest.

  Every anniversary it got a bit easier. Easier, not better. He could still sense him. Whenever Chris closed eyes he can see that smile, that fire in his eyes.

  What he would give to see him again. Would he do things differently? Would he tell him how he truly felt? No more bullshitting around what he felt. Ask Piers out on a date? Reach out and touch his face?

  _Stop it._

  He mumbled to himself, "I miss you."

  Chris then put the patch back into the night stand where it has remained since: over a picture of Piers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Piers and his revelation. This chapter was not intended to be short; however, I wanted to present Piers' angst with still a sample of what his life under Cypher has been like and deterred from dragging it too much. It just felt more realistic this way when I finished it.

Same Date

New Orleans, Louisiana

 

  After his talk with Ada, Piers walked out of the building. He needed some fresh air. As much as he wanted Ada to provide him with more information of his identity, he felt the walls of the abandoned hospital closing in on him. Maybe it was too much at this time. He made his way out of the building through one of the side doors to avoid anyone seeing him come out of the building. The least attention to himself and Ada, the better. His presence in the building was suffocating.

  Once he made it out the door some homeless people scattered away from the external of the building. They must have been some of the ones he scared off when he and Ada came into the building. Piers minded them no attention as he began to walk towards the street. It was cloudy again, but the fresh air felt good.

  He was unfamiliar with New Orleans; hence, he had no clue what street he was facing. There were other buildings and structures around within his view. From his observation, Charity Hospital was the cryptic tomb within the area. Everything appeared to be business as usual, except for the hospital. A victim of the flooding caused by Katrina.

  Piers breathed steadily as he stood outside. The exterior noise of traffic, faint breeze, and birds chirping gave a sense of normality after hiding out in the building with Ada for the past few days. He used his enhanced senses that he utilized for tracking to take in the environment as a coping mechanism to regulate his temperament. He was feeling better as the minutes passed. His thought process was going haywire during Ada’s revelation; however, his mind was easing to get a better grip.

  However, he was still angry. Not at Ada, but angry at Cypher. Ada said that he was not a criminal as Cypher made him to believe. Not a criminal, but a service man. 

  The four years he was under the thumb of Cypher left him feeling alone in the world. No friends, no family, no significant others to share his life with. He only had his “co-workers” in Cypher. But who was he kidding. They were all collateral. Expendable figures with no close ties. If anyone of them would die there would be no tears, no recognition, nor funerals. They kept it moving by abolishing the bodies and all traces towards Cypher. Cold.

  He did not even know his age or birthday, only instructed to begin with the age of 25 and go from there.

  As Seven, he was Cypher’s prized possession. The golden boy due to his elite training, enhanced abilities, and proficiency with a fire arm. His armed and unarmed combat skills were unmatched. Whenever there was a difficult task, he knew Cypher would count on him to come through. This might have stoked his ego a bit, but nothing could replace the feeling of loneliness he would feel.

  Prior to this he had no memories of a past life. No recollection of a childhood, upbringing, sense of family, or holiday festivities. None. He had no knowledge if he ever had braces, any embarrassing grade school stories, or if he ever fell in love.

  It got to the point within the last four years where he believed that he might have been a biological production. It was a thought that made him feel alone in this world. The thought that if he were to become terminally ill or die in combat at some point, that there would be no one to claim him. A cold thought of a grave with his body left without anyone to care enough to visit, leave flowers, or say a few kind words.

  _“No one will miss you,"_ he recalled from his earliest memories when he woke under Cypher’s mercy. _“In your past life you were responsible for thousands of lives."_

  “Lies”, he mumbled to himself. Despite some of his distrust towards Ada and the garbage Cypher disclosed about her, he believed her. Piers did not recall when he began to suspect that Cypher was lying to him about his past life, but he knew it started with the dreams.

  Now that he recalled; did he even dream before during the first few years with Cypher? Could they have found a way to mitigate that as well?

  It started with a dream. _He was in a desert environment along with other people in uniform. They were all shooting. The sound of firearms filled his ears again as it did in his dream. There was no sense of danger in this dream. It appeared to be some kind of training procedure, now that he recalled. He was shooting an assault rifle at a blank target. Then he heard a militant tone_ “good job…” _followed by a name, but he could not recall the name that the voice said. It followed by_ “I’m proud of you son." _When he woke that day of the dream he called out “dad." It shook him to his core. He heard the voice call him by name. As much as he tried he could not recall the name for as much as he thought and processed the dream over and over again to recall. It drove him mad for days._

   _Do I still have a father?_

  As angry as he was and as angry as he may always be with Cypher, he finally had a name. Piers Nivans. Then it hit him. The name the militant toned voice said in that early dream was _Piers_.

  _"Good job Piers."_

  This went on for the last two years while under Cypher. Two years of occasional dreams that were shining light onto his past life. The most persistent dream that occurred in some of these dreams were of him running through a maze and hearing a man’s voice calling out “ _where are you."_

  _The dream was the same every time. He was in a foggy environment running through a maze made out of unbreakable thick frosted glass. Through the frosted glass maze he was able to make out a silhouette of a figure on the other side of the glass. From what he could tell, he and this unknown man were trying to find each other._

  _Piers recalled he would be running around the maze trying to get to this man. The dreams would always end with a dead end with a glass wall between him and this other man. Piers and this man would end up banging on the glass wall to get to each other, but it was unbreakable. In his dream he would feel defeated that he and this unknown man could not reach other; furthermore, he was also able to feel this man’s angst as well._

  “I need you back,” _the man would say on the other side._

“I want to come home,” _Piers would reply._

 _They would both put their hands adjacent to each other’s with the glass in between. He was unable to explain this feeling they both had for each other. The feeling of being apart would tear him inside within the dream._ Then he would awaken.

  As much as he would try, he could not recall who this person was every time that dream would occur. However, he knew it was the voice of the same of the man that he would recall in other dreams saying “ _good job Ace."_

  Piers was brought back to reality from these memories as he felt sharp pain in his head. He snapped right back to reality as he knelt down in pain. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips to ease the pain. It was too much to process all at once.

   _Thanks a lot Ada._

Enough thinking and processing for now, he thought as the pain faded away.

  What matters is that he was beginning to get clarity. He had a name. A stepping stone towards who he really is. The feeling of anger and the blood boiling through his veins was beginning to ease up and leaning towards excitement of knowing that he can find his true self. Not as _Seven_ as he was Christened, but as _Piers Nivans_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the chapter where I introduce a flashback with what happened to Piers after his "death" and we are introduced to Cypher. As I previously mentioned, since this is a Nivanfield take on how Piers survived and alternate universe of the aftermath I am making my own changes to RE6. I feel that RE6 was a decent game, but it was loaded with unnecessary drama for the sake of drama where the entry lost the sense of what RE truly is. I also feel that RE6 kills Chris' character for the sake of making a drama filled story. I was unable to sympathize with him, especially how he became so cold as he did not care of losing so many people. A man suffers from amnesia and the first thing to do is put him in the battlefield and lead a team to fight bioterrorism? This was not the Chris Redfield we met and followed up to RE5. It was kind of like meeting RE7 Chris. Who this now? But anyways. I want to bring solace to that. Here is a flashback to Piers and an altered RE6 ending. Hope I did not put Piers through too much, but it was needed.

Four Years Ago – July 1st

In The Bowls of Hell

 

  The explosion should have killed him. Piers should have been dead by now, yet here he was. Still alive. In great pain and still in control of his mind. His fight was not over, yet. Not the fight against bioterrorism, but the fight for his mind, body, and soul.

  When he set off the explosion his body flew backwards into a small chamber. His body crashing onto a solid wall and falling onto the floor of the chamber. The combination of the explosion and emergency release mechanisms activated this small chamber to act as an escape module. Without his knowing, the sensor within felt Piers’ presence setting off the system to close the door and made its way downward.

  Piers laid on the floor of the chamber with his eyes closed feeling the motion; however, he could not get over the pain in his right arm. If this is what it felt like to be infected by the virus or a slow agonizing march towards death, then he hoped death would come sooner to free him of this misery.

  During the combat prior to this he suffered fatal injuries and was infected by the so called C-Virus. The virus caused his right arm to fluctuate between a normal and mutated arm that was now able to create electrical charges, like something out of a comic book. He knew that he had no chance out in the real world in his condition; therefore, he chose to stay behind to destroy Neo Umbrella’s facility that was on the verge of releasing terror around the world.

  He wanted to die, fast. Cursing himself within not being able to make it out with the others. Unable to say goodbye to his parents. Not coming to terms with his feelings towards his Captain, Chris. It was unfair. Cheated. But that did not matter anymore. The point was he was able to save Chris, Jill, Sherry Birkin, and Jake Muller.

  _How else could we have stopped that unstoppable force of a bioweapon? The virus was the only hope I had. That bioweapon kept coming, after us. Bullets couldn’t stop it. Grenades only stunned it for a moment. It wielded its mechanical claw-_

  As his eyes remained closed he can still see the look of despair on Chris’ face as the freight elevator was moving up before the facility exploded. Chris calling out his name as he banged his fists on the elevator door pleading to Piers not to go on with this selfless act. But Piers knew this was what needed to be done. He would not be any good to anyone anymore. The BSAA’s top soldier and sniper would just become another casualty or seen as the enemy with the infection of the C-Virus.

  He thought that he should have told Chris how he truly felt. But now he will never know.

  _Please forgive me for the pain I am going to cause you, Chris. I had no other choice._

  The sound of squeaking breaks broke his train of thought, along with his body shaking as he felt the chamber coming to a halt. Then a thud. His body bounced as the chamber vibrated. He looked around and saw the door in front of him open.

  The pain he felt all over his body and right arm began to…change. He thought that at this point his body would mutate or be set on fire resulting to create a cocoon around his body like all the others. But that did not happen.

  The pain was beginning to give him a charge. A sense of a need to survive. Followed by a trigger to dispose of any potential threat within sight. He thought that maybe this was how the virus worked. As it takes over its hosts body it activates a survival code, kill all threats, and use pain to keep fighting. The need to survive.

  Piers feared that he would begin to act like the Javo or zombies that he had encountered. A lifeless host controlled by a virus. He kicked himself for not having a firearm to put a bullet into his head to avoid that outcome.

  He sat up and looked out the chamber. Within view beyond the chamber there was a manmade tunnel from the looks of it. There was no other choice but to proceed. With his new found energy, he picked himself up and proceeded. Thankfully he was still in control of his mind; however, the virus was energizing him within. He walked with his body still showing signs of fatigue and pain, yet the virus was pushing him to survive. Down the tunnel he continued. Red colored emergency lights shun enough light to see his way.

  The others should have made it out by now, he thought. As long they made it out. As long as Chris was alive and well.

  _Chris, I’m sorry. You keep experiencing losses in your life. Your parents, teammates from the Raccoon City incident, some of our team, and now me._

  Despite his thoughts on Chris’ cursed life, he was glad to have helped him escape this place. Because he can still feel empathy, he knew he was still in control. He was still Piers Nivans and not a bioweapon. The rush of energy was starting to wear out. Due to the decline of energy he could feel the beating his body has been through causing him to tire out. His eyelids were feeling heavy. The pain was coming back. Defeat was settling in.

  _I’m going to die in this tunnel, alone._

  Piers’ stroll down the tunnel was slowing down. His body was giving out. He began to give in to the fatigue. His sight was fading as his surroundings were becoming a blur. From his view he can see a turn coming up ahead. His direction was going to turn left at the end of this portion of the tunnel.

  There was a sound of metallic creak coming from the next portion of the tunnel. Then there was the sound of a heavy metal door closing. Piers kept on walking approaching the turn when a figure then came into view from the next tunnel.

  The figure was a tall woman with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a white lab coat. She drew out a gun as she laid eyes on him. Her appearance was of a scientist, but her posture with her gun pointed towards him gave the impression that she was trained. Perhaps a former soldier, like himself.

  Before he can say anything, there was a burning sensation within the pit of his stomach. It began to grow within causing him to clench his stomach. The fire within began to grow through his veins all over his body. Piers collapsed onto his knees while still clenching his stomach.

  “Lord please, take me now!” he called out.  

  Piers felt his eyes beginning to water. He could see the woman still pointing her gun at him from a safe distance.

  “Please,” he said to her. “H-Hel-“

 

  A few sparks of electricity were generating from his body and then followed by the fire. His body lit into a hellish fire all over. From the woman’s perspective the fire began in its normally yellow-orange color; however, then it manifested into a blue color. She watched as Piers’s body engulfed in flames all over him. When the flames went out the result was a rock solid cocoon versus a charred body as a result.

  The woman watched without a flinch, as if she has seen this a million times before. She waited.

  “Five, four, three, two, one,” she whispered as her finger around the trigger of her gun pointed at the cocoon was ready to fire when needed.

  The cocoon began to crack. More cracks began to run across the cocoon. Pieces began to fall off. She waited for the monster within to come out.

  _Come on._

  The cocoon broke to pieces with a figure coming out and collapsed onto the ground. The woman kept her eyes on the fresh hatched figure that lay face down on the ground. Her first thought was that her eyes were deceiving her. She expected a monster-or should she say-a bioweapon to come out. A production that was going to lash out for her blood as it was always the case from her experience.

  Instead it was a nude male body on the ground before her. She took a few slow paces towards the man. The color of his flesh was a rosy pink, like a new born infant. His body was still all man, muscular and well-toned. His hair was wet; however, she made out its brown colored origin. This was new to her. Her mind was processing what the man's appearance was before the cocoon metamorphisis.

  The man she initially encountered looked battered with mutated notes. His right arm showed sign of mutation. But now, here he is. Reborn with no injures, no marks, and no signs of physical mutation.

  She heard a grunt coming from the body. A sign of movement as his arms began to push up his upper body. He raised his head slowly, looking up towards her. She can see his light colored eyes. No sign of pain, but his gaze was as if he was waking up from a long slumber.

  “Amazing,” she said. The threat level in the air dissipated as she witnessed the miracle before her. She lowered her gun.

  The man raised his right hand towards her.

  “Help me,” he said in a weak tone.

  Then he passed out.

 

  Piers did not regain full consciousness again after that. What followed later were scenarios from hearing voices and brief moments he was able to witness. He recalled the feeling of being dragged and then carried. His eyes would open for a bit where he recalled being in a vehicle. The voices of a man and woman were present.

  “You should have killed him. He could change into one of those things,” said the man.

  “I know what I saw,” the woman replied. “No one could have survived the virus like he did.”

  “This is not part of our job, goddamn it! They will kill us for bringing someone in. Plus, he is infected. You’re gonna get us killed…”

 “…leave it to me to explain to them. I’m a scientist first…”

 

  Piers recalled his eyes opening up. He was weak. Thankfully, he felt that he was laying on a flat surface. His sight was blurry. There was white light all around. He could not move or talk. There was no feeling of pain, only the feeling of anesthesia drowsing his mind. He hoped that he was in a hospital getting help. There was a sense of hope that he would hear Chris’ voice, happy to now that he was alive.

  But there was another voice in the room. More than one that is. Unfamiliar voices talking back and forth.

  “Two weeks and still no mutation.”

  “Vitals are good.”

  “No threat.”

  Then it all went to black again.

 

  When Piers came to again he was unable to open his eyes. He was awake but his eyelids felt too heavy to open. Voices were present once again. One of the voices was of a woman with a faint French accent.

  The conversation around him was distorted. He could not keep up with the conversaion as his thought process was too weak to follow. All he can do was hear bits and pieces here and there.

  “Survival is normally less than 10 percent, but he…” a woman’s voice said. “…protected him…virus wanted to live…him to live…”

  “Are you sure?” said the French accented woman.

  “…strong vitals…but why…still human…” said the woman.

  “…serve us now…no memories…wiped...” said the French accented woman.

 

September 15th

Chicago, Illinois

 

  Piers could not recall how long he was unconscious. Days? Weeks? Months? The first thing in his mind was how cold his body felt and the fucking headache did not help matters. There was a ringing sound in his ears.

  He tried to think. Recall what happened before. It was there. No. There was no…last memory. He just woke up in this state.

  His eyes started to open; however, his sight was out of focus. It was all blurry. After a minute his sight was slowly coming into focus. He can make out that he was in a small room with dim lights. Fuck, even his eyes ached. If there was too much lighting it likely would have hurt his sight.

  “The fuck,” he exhaled.

  Piers’ hazel eyes were taking in his surroundings. Gray colored walls. Dim ceiling lights. Cement floor. A metal table. Chairs. A door ahead of him. No one in the room but him.

  His first instinct was to move. Moving his body was an issue as his entire body felt weak. Then there was the aching all over. But then something else. He then realized that his arms were tied to the back of the chair he was sitting on. He could feel that the restraints were tight and heavy. He then looked down and saw that there were thick metal restraints that held his ankles together.

  _What the fuck? I’m a prisoner._

  As he further looked down to his body he noticed that he was wearing white scrubs pants and a white t-shirt. He felt too weak to fight the restraints or move around.

  He heard an electronic click up ahead. The door opened where a woman and a man entered the room. Their faces neutral with no expression.

  _Who are these assholes?_

 The man was in a dark colored business suit. Dark hair, tall, late thirties, and in decent shape; however, there was a feeling that he was carrying a fire arm under his blazer. The woman had wavy-shoulder length brunette hair, cream complexed skin- _maybe of Moroccan descent_ , blue eyes, with her slim figure in a professional top and mini-skirt. She had a folder in her possession. They pulled over chairs from the table and positioned themselves in front of him. Their faces remained neutral.

  “What is your name?” said the woman. There was a silence. A response from him was expected. Her tone had a faint French accent. The man and the woman waited for his response.

  “ _What_ is your name?” she repeated.

  Piers understood her question; however, he was having trouble recalling his own name. His head downward as he was starting to breathe from his mouth as he was having trouble focusing and recalling his name. What was it?

  “I…my name is…I’m...,” he continued in a weak husky tone. He did not know. “I…don’t know.”

  The woman stared at him. Her mind likely processing her next question from what he could tell.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  _Trick question?_

  “Judging from your bitchy demeanor, I’m guessing you’re my ex-wife.” The woman did not flinch to his remark. “Did I forget our anniversary or something?”

  “How did you get here?” the man in the suit asked. “What did you do before? Where were you born? When is your birthday?”

  Piers could not help but to scoff. “Let me guess; she left me for you?”

  “Answer the questions,” the woman shimmed in.

  As Piers processed the questions in his head, he realized he did not know the answers. Simple questions he could not respond.

  _Okay, come on, think._

  It was there, he thought to himself. His life, his memories, his identify; it was all there. But now…it’s gone. It was like putting an object down, turning away, and then seeing that the object was gone. Everything of his life he knew, his… _gone_.

  The room was silent as he continued to think. All he had was a blank canvas. No recollection of how he got to where he is, what he did before this, where he was born, or his own date of birth. Why could he not remember?

  “This some kind of mind fuck?” he started. He began to breathe out loud as his nerves began to rattle due to not knowing his identity.

  _This must be amnesia._

  “Shit! Who the fuck am I?” They are fucking with me, he thought. “If you know, then help me out here.”

  It all went so fast. The woman opened up the folder with pictures of a tombstone, but he saw no engraving on it. She said it was a picture taken from behind the tombstone on purpose to avoid the name on it. The woman said it was _his_ tombstone. He was dead to the world.

  What followed made his stomach churn. The woman calling herself Nova, informed him that he was a terrorist.

  _Terrorist?_

  Nova informed him that he was infected with a virus that caused genetic mutation of his organs that was leading to a slow agonizing march towards death. As a result he went mad and took it out on the world by shooting and killing his parents. Both shot dead by his own hands. She continued to explain that he was on the run, when his madness drove him to blow up a building. His atrocious act resulted with the deaths of thousands of people.

  Piers’ heart began to race. His breathing was building up causing his aching body to tremble. It was a horrible realization.

  “No!” he responded as he shook his head. “W-Why? That can’t be me! I’m not a monster!”

  Nova continued with further information of what happened after the explosion. He was pursued by law enforcement the day after the explosion where he was shot multiple times, but managed to elude them.

  Piers was waiting to hear Nova state that he died from his wounds as soon as he was shot. Instead, she shared that he managed to flee apprehension. A few days later one of _their_ people found him unconscious in a vehicle at a motel parking lot and brought him in to treat his wounds.

  “Why would you do that if you know what I’ve done?” he asked.

  “Let me explain,” she began. “Indeed, we knew who you were and what you have done. We would have turned you in to the authorities had it not been for your condition. With you being infected with the virus in your body we wanted to make sure you would not be a threat and harm others.”

  Her neutral expression never changed.

  “We have scientists and medical staff in our team due to changes in the criminal world where bioterrorism has become a new norm. Hence, the need for a science and medical team. I instructed for the team to ensure you could not spread your infection.” Before she continued he noticed a small crack on her neutral foundation. A slight smile formed on her expression. “But as lady luck was on your side, they were able to cure you from the virus.”

  Piers remained quiet as he listened.

  “If you think about it, all odds were against you,” Nova started. “You had no chance of survival, no chance of living a normal life, or no freedom as your horrific acts could have kept you imprisoned for the rest of your blood stained life.”

 “People are dead,” the man in the business suit said. “You killed your own parents.”

 “Stop, just stop,” Piers pleaded. I _am_ a monster, he thought. He slowly shook his head as he looked down. Hearing Nova inform him of the terrible things he committed. Death would have been fitting if he indeed engaged in these acts.

  “What if I told you that you can still make up for all the lives you have taken?” said Nova.

  Piers looked up in full attention.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “If everyone thinks I’m dead and you’re telling me that I was a terrorist; what good am I to anyone now?”

  “Where do I begin?” she said.

  Nova explained that he was found in early July and today’s date was September 15th. He has been in an induced coma to treat the virus within him. Curing him of the virus was long and arduous, but he pulled through. However, Nova disclosed that there were side effects while in a coma. The virus caused neurological and molecular changes in his system. As a result, he is now enhanced. He is now granted with increased strength, heightened senses, and extended stamina.

  Piers remained quiet and pensive as Nova explained that his body was in pain after the enhancements. His amnesia was also a side effect to this.

  “You’re saying that I am no longer human?” he asked.

  “Of course you are still human,” Nova replied. “You are just _blessed_ with your enhancements.”

  That explained why they are using strong restraints, he thought. If I have all of these enhancements I can be a danger to everyone.

  Nova shared that this organization staged his death with the body of an unidentified man.   His “death” as they staged it was a result of a vehicle crash that caused the vehicle to erupt into flames while he was on the run.

  In other words, he was dead to the world. She presented copies of a death certificate and newspaper articles of the crash. The name and other identification information on the death certificate were marked off. He was only able to see these documents for a few seconds and was unable to read much into them. Nova explained that it was best for him to not know his previous name and life, now that he has “ _another chance_.”

  Nova expressed how he can serve their organization and his country for a better good by working for them.

  “We are known as Cypher. We have no political affiliations and have no territorial restrictions. We serve this country and assist other countries as requested. Politicians and global leaders tend to act cowardly when taking action to defeat their enemies, along with present and potential threats due to their positions in the public eye. They play it too safe to avoid public scrutiny, re-election fears, and having blood on their hands. Noble feelings and acts perhaps, but their lack of action in dealing with pubic enemies makes them no better than these threats as mentioned. They prefer to sit with tails between their legs and watch the world burn than to do what is right. _You_ , young man, were no different. Too scared to put the dog or puppy to sleep, as they say. That is where we come in. We neutralize the problem by eliminating the intended target.”

  Spies and assassins, he thought. They want me to be one of their operatives?

  “We clean you of your burdens and broke the chains that kept you restraint to society and their public morals. You are in debt with us now. Work for us, clean your debt, and wipe the blood from your hands. It is the least you can do for all the pain and death you have caused.” She persisted. Her voice turning up the heat. “You think a _terrorist_ like you will go to heaven and _enjoy_ the Gardens of Eden? No. You will burn like all the other cowardly criminals that took their own lives before any contrite notion or being judged by the laws of the land. Your parents’ deaths should tell you where you will end up once your life ends. Think about it. In your past life you were responsible for thousands of lives. Who will miss you? No one. No one will miss you.”

   _Thousands of lives. My parents dead by my own hands._

  Another chance, he thought. To make things right. Damn it, he knew she is right. If he caused all of this, he needed to find a way to make peace with himself. If his parents are in heaven, he wants them to see that he can make things right to some extent. He had to serve; who was it, _Cypher_?

  “If you refuse to serve us, we will let you walk out that door,” said Nova. “You are free to walk out into the world. Go ahead, as you wish. What life will you have then? The public will recognize your face as the terrorist that you became and report you. Will you turn yourself in and be locked away with no chance of release or just flee apprehension as you did before? Running away like a fugitive will not get you far. What kind of life would that be? You think you can spend the rest of your life running and hiding? Who would hire a terrorist such as yourself? Live with what you have done in your conscious. All those deaths. So _many_ lives. Your parents. Remember, we helped you get rid of the virus-“

  “Okay!” Piers stated. “I’ll do what you want. What do you want me to do?”

  “Wise choice, young man. What better way to repay us for your life and make amends with your past than by serving Cypher. You will live here for the next six months. That is six months of training, shadowing, and of course, some further tests of your enhancements now that you are awake and capable. Once all of your training is complete you will work on your own as one of our agents.”

   Nova went into detail that Cypher will not reveal his true name or his past life. It must all be buried like his death to the public. This is indeed a profession; therefore, he will earn his living. This profession will be constant on-call as he is needed.

  “An enhanced human being as yourself will serve us greatly. You are one lucky man. Anyone else that was in contact with the virus you were infected with would be dead. But not you. The enhancements you have been gifted with and with our training, you will become one of the most revered agents in the world. You will be the best of the best. You are lucky indeed…,” her eyes tilted right for a second. “…lucky number seven.”

  The birth of his new alias, Seven.

 

  Seven, as they have now named him due to his luck from recovering from the virus and coming back stronger than ever, was being escorted by a few armed men down a hallway. He was blindfolded and shackled as he marched with two men guiding him on each side. Nova expressed that this escorting process would be temporary until they knew they can trust him and be not a danger to them.

  Seven would be lying if he said that he was not scared. Scared and worried of whatever the hell he got himself into. He had no idea where he was or where they were taking him as he was unable to see the route from point A to point B. He knew he was still in the same building, but did not know what city or town he was in.

  They all came to a halt. He heard an electronic sound that was followed by what could have been a lock switch. The escorts guided him a few more steps as they removed the blindfold and shackles. The escorts quickly left the room and closed the door behind. The same lock sound as before was heard indicating that he was locked in this room.

  Seven looked around and observed this room. It was almost the same size as the room he was in earlier when he woke up, smaller than a garage. He observed pale walls and a cement floor. A plain bed with two pillows at the corner, a dresser drawer, and two separate doors on opposite sides. He inspected the two doors as he found one led to a closet and the other was a bathroom. The bathroom was small with a standing shower, sink, and toilet.

  Seven walked over to the sink as he noticed a mirror above it. He realized that he did not know what he looked like. Better said, he could not recall his appearance or identifying features. Upon observing his reflection he met a light complexed boyish face. He was acquainting himself with his features as he observed hazel eyes, full pouty lips, no facial hair, and his head was shaved.

  _So this is me._

  Seven brought his hand up as he continued to look at his reflection by touching his face and then ran his palm on his shaved head. There were no traces of scars on his face.

  _Terrorist._ He recalled what Nova said he was. A _terrorist_.

  Seven walked out of the bathroom and made his way onto the bed. He sat on the bed as he was recanting what Nova informed him of his past acts. A sickening feeling in is stomach as he thought of him killing thousands of people, along with his parents.

  “I did this,” he said to himself. He tried to recall what his parents looked like. As much as he tried he could not see their faces in his thoughts. Nothing.

  Now here he was. A man with no memory having to serve an organization he has no knowledge about. He was alive and cured of a deadly virus he cannot recall, but he was alone. Alone to face a new world through a new identity he felt ashamed to have gained. Seven felt that this is what he deserved for what he has done. To be left alone and fend for himself with no love or support from any friends or loved ones. A lonely dog in a kennel with no master.

  He stood up off of the bed and sat on the floor with his back up against a corner still trying to make sense of it all. There was no one to help him get through this. It was just him now. There was no going back.

  Seven sat there with the feeling in his gut of how no one would want to help him after what he has done, aside from Cypher.

  _No one will miss you_ , Nova had said.

  Indeed, he thought. No one will miss him for the monster he was. He then broke down and cried.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he sobbed. There was a need to say it out loud so that those whose lives he took could hear, wherever they were. “I’m sorry.”

  In some degree he was glad to know that despite being this cold hearted person he was told he was, he was glad to feel guilty and apologetic for what he has done as he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was Cypher. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback. Greatly appreciated in advance!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay of adding a chapter. I was split over how I wanted to go about it. I was going on a different direction at first, but decided to change the pace and present what Piers had endured as Seven. I am going for a pace here for when we finally get to the heart of Nivanfield.

Four Years Ago

Chicago, Illinois

  Seven did not get any sleep that night. By the next morning he was greeted by a group of armed men similar as the night before when he was escorted to his dorm. Once again, he was cuffed and shackled. This act went on for two weeks up until he was given-or should he say- _granted_ freedom to walk on his own.

  For the first three weeks since he woke up under the control of Cypher he was subjected to testing in a science lab. Seven went from feeling like an abandoned dog with no memory to a lab rat.

  It was torture.

  Constant blood work, screenings, questioning; however, those first few tasks were child’s play. Then came testing of how much pain he can endure. Medical staff and scientists poking and probing him with needles, shocking him with electric prods, and exposing him to excruciating experiences. Many of these test left him on his hands and knees in great pain and body fatigue.

  Despite it all, he took it. The last thing he wanted was to feel that they got the best of him. That would never happen. Perhaps he was too proud to ever voice his displeasure of the constant testing. He did not want Cypher’s approval; instead, he wanted to earn his place.

  There were times when Nova was present during these tests. Her neutral face would sometimes crack with a slant smile.

_Damn her._

  Seven would sometimes look back at her. They would stare at each other eye to eye. They would not exchange words that often. The last thing Seven wanted was to form a bond with her. Sure, it was she that granted him another chance to find a sense of cleansing out his sins.

_But at what cost?_

  It was determined from all the medical and scientific testing that Seven indeed possessed increased stamina, a high tolerance for pain, possessed greater strength than the average man, and had acute senses.

_Eat your heart out, Dwayne Johnson._

  After those series of test, came the operative training. Seven was now exposed and presented to a slew of new faces. He met with current agents and former agents that have now moved on to training technicians. Despite overcoming the painful testing and being able to walk from those experiences alive and well, he was nervous.

  What the hell do I know about being an agent, he thought.

  Aside from the nerves of going into training, there was something oddly familiar about this. To some extent, Seven felt like he has lived this life before. When it was time to use a firearm, physical fitness, armed and unarmed combat…it felt like second nature to him. At first he would second guess himself, but he improved as he went over and over again through these exercises.

  His training opponents would always land smack on the floor when engaging on one on one with him. Being kept confined to this space, having limited freedom, and being exposed to intense physical pain in a lab was all released during this training. It felt…liberating. Seven did not use is increased strength to beat his training opponents, he was just that _damn_ good.

  Firearm training scared the shit out of him at first. The thought of him using a firearm reminded him of what he was told he had previously done. Shooting and killing his parents. Seven stared at the hand gun put in his hands.

_Get over it._

  So he did. His doubts and fears would be forced away by his determination to earn his place, his second chance. After a few rounds, he never missed. His initial sense was that this could be a trait by his altered abilities. Seven went from a hand gun to upgraded firearms such as assault rifles faster than any other agent.

  He. Never. Missed.

  When he was first plunged into this new world of his he noted his body was lean and toned. Obviously he must have been dedicated to working out and good nutrition prior to losing his memory. He wondered what type of routine he previously followed. Could it have been a vanity trait, was he an athlete, or a job requirement? He may never know.

  During the training process he would hit the gym in the facility and followed proper nutrition. The effort paid off as he kept his body is good shape for what he was going to embark. He put on another fifteen pounds of muscle, stayed lean, and strong. His body was cut.

  His head remained shaven during the early stages when he was treated like a lab rat. When that was behind him he let his grow out and noted his light brown colored roots. Seven then decided to keep his hair short, almost militant style, along with a connected mustache and goatee. It gave him a bit of a mystique. The youthful good looks were still present despite adding the facial hair.

 

*******************************************

  The other agents were, okay to say the least. There were no bonds, no friendships, no meet ups. It was strictly professional. Most importantly, no sharing of their personal lives.

_How could I share any of that information, when I don’t remember anything? Do I even want to remember?_

  Some of the other agents and training technicians would be impressed with Seven. He was always coming out on top. Excelled more than any other. The agents he would shadow would report with great remarks. "He was made for this", many would share. Indeed, he did. The confidence came in. Again he would question if he lived these scenarios before.

_Put it away. That was then, this is now._

  Once his training was complete he was pushed head first into his first mission. Now the real nerves settled in. He put those nerves aside as his determination set in. Seven thought to himself that if he was going to be an agent to Cypher, he was going to be the best fucking agent.

  His first mission objective was to travel to Miami to confront an informative who was known to be sharing American government information with North Korea, retrieve her computer and cell phone…kill her if needed. The woman was home in her high rise condo. Seven came up with a scenario of how to get in without making too much noise or drawing attention. Armed with a “bible”, a smile, a cloth with Chloroform on hand, and two handguns under his leather jacket. He simply walked over to the door when the coast was clear and knocked.

  The woman opened the door.

  “Hi. Can I take a few minutes of your time to talk about the Lord?” Seven said with a smile. Before she could say a word, the Chloroform soaked cloth was on her face. She was unconscious within seconds.

_Guess she felt the Holy Ghost._

  When she regained consciousness she was tied up and blind folded. Seven obtained two laptops and a few cell phones from her condo.

  “I saw your face,” she mumbled. “I can identify you.”

  “I have your I.D. and all your incriminating evidence,” Seven replied. “If you report this, we will just find you and put a bullet in your brain.” He said this as he put a gun to her temple. “But no, you’re right. You saw me. That means…you are a liability.”

  Click.

  She jolted as he pulled the trigger. He had removed the clip prior.

  “But, maybe I believe in second chances. Tread carefully though, Meredith. We will be watching.”

  Seven left the condo and walked hastily back to the parking garage where he parked his getaway car with the gym bag carrying the two laptops and cell phones. As he walked he kept looking around to make sure no one was watching him. So far so good, it was the home stretch.

  However, you can never be too careful. Once he was in the garage, a bullet hit a column within inches from him. Seven dodged behind the column. He looked ahead of him looking at his car yards away.  

_Fuck._

  “You’re good as dead,” said a male’s voice that echoed within the area. “Give up the bag, pretty boy.”

  Seven began to think of how to get out of this situation. He did not have time to call for help. This was the real test. Seven conjured up a method to distract the man. He put the gym bag down and carefully pulled out the car keys from his pocket without making a sound. If his inclination was correct, he could create a chain that can distract his assailant to get a jump on him. As he took out the car keys he hit the alarm button that activated the car alarm.

  The alarm on his car went off in the garage. He was right, as luck would have it that other cars close to his car had sensitive alarms that went off. Other alarms went off down the row towards where his assailant was likely to be.   It was only a matter of time.

  Seven held his breath as the tension in his throat tightened. His back remained up against the column. He could hear and sense footsteps approaching carefully. His eyes focused to his right on the driving path where he sensed someone approaching.

  There he was. A man facing the other way towards where the activity of car alarms were blaring. Gun in hand. Seven wasted no time as he swiftly approached the man from behind and knocked him out with a fist blow to the back of his head. He disarmed and searched the man for any other weapons.

  With his assailant out cold, he managed to get away. Seven flew back to Chicago and arrived to headquarters to drop off the items he obtained. He did not expect any compliments on his first mission. It went well and that was that. On to the next when summoned.

  Now that he was “broken in”, Seven was able to reside on his own away from headquarters. He was hoping that he would be able to live away from Chicago, maybe a few states away and only report to duty when needed. Why live so close to work?

  However, that was not the case. He was instructed to live in Chicago. He obeyed and did so. A decent apartment in the city was not bad. Despite living on his own away from the confines of Cypher he still had to live under pretenses. His paper work was forged with a name, date of birth, social security, and driver’s license. In public he went by as Austin Dash, a 28-year-old financial advisor. Seven would spend time practicing saying that name to make sure it rolled off his tongue as natural as possible.

  Living in his own space gave him comfort. He had no problems with Cypher as long as he does not disclose to anyone what he does for a living. When he was not out on a mission he would spend time in the gym keeping up with his physique, found a few activities to keep his mind clear, he even learned five languages: Spanish, Cantonese, French, Arabic, and Italian. Whatever it took to keep his mind distracted from his constant wondering.

  What was his true name? Who was he before this? Where was he from? What were his parents like? How exactly did he come in contact with that virus?

  There were many times where he was tempted to search online for any stories of a man killing his parents and then going on a spree where he blew up a building. But he would stop himself. One, it was Cypher’s rules and second there was that sickening feeling in his stomach before he had the audacity to do so. He would think of the atrocities he was told he did beforehand.

_Terrorist._

 

*******************************************

  The reality was, he had no one.

  Even if he managed to locate a loved one or friend from his past, he would be rejected due to the horrific crimes he has committed. Why would he deserve compassion? Perhaps this is what he deserved after what has done. March through life alone and live with the constant reminder of why he is in this predicament.

  Seven would just push off these feelings to be able to cope.  As well just thinking of the bigger picture here.  He was now built-no- _altered_ , to be as strong as he is. The man had the strength of two men, senses that any hunter would envy, stamina that would help him continue to strive through any physical obstacle. He was a man of war.

  Slowly he began to build a solid reputation within Cypher. Within the first year he was the best. Cypher’s golden boy. A title he was proud off. There were tasks handed to him to hunt down targets that would take any other agent months to pin-point. Seven would drop off of the grid from Cypher’s watch and he would emerge a few days later with completing his task. Whether it was retrieving something vital or having to kill, he succeeded.

  Seven’s reputation within the black market grew as well. Word of an enforcer-type of individual was spreading. It spread throughout the world. Some of these black market groups met with the wrath of Cypher and it’s golden boy. At some point, Seven used all of his internal angst caused from his self-hatred from his past, loneliness, and pain to take out his targets. Not that he enjoyed killing. He simply wanted to fill the voids by being successful at what he does. Even if it means taking more lives. Yes, Cypher were content with the outcome. Even Nova at times would show how pleased she was. However, she still liked to take an icy jab to remind him of why he serves them.

  “You have done quite well. We are very pleased…if only your parents were around to see this.”

_See what I mean._

  He was grateful to be able to go back home. Sometimes with a few bumps, bruises, a broken bone here and there. But of course, he was alone. No one to talk to, share stories with, no plans, no holiday festivities to look forward to.

_I know I had a family. I must have had friends. But if I threw it all away for my crimes, then I deserve a brutal cold living afterwards._

  Seven thought that whatever pleasures and life experiences he had before are gone. He hated the fact that he cannot remember anything. The first two years under the hands of Cypher he thought he would regain his memory, but nothing. It was all a blank. At times when he was out and about where he would come across seeing families out together, a group of friends enjoying a good laugh, and couples holding hands.

  He longed for those feelings. That inner urge to get close to someone, but he was scared. Too scared to blow his cover of what he does for a living. Sure he could continue to make people believe he was Austin Dash who works at a boring financial organization telling rich fucks how to save money to buy a fucking yacht. But the mask always falls, he would tell himself. It was too risky.

  He had a few one night stands with women. Getting himself off helped for a bit. Having his ego bloated for a bit did not hurt either when they complimented how great the sex was and his dick size, but he knew he could not meet with them again to avoid disclosure into his life. A sexual connection for a while was good enough of a fix to fill the lonely void. But he wanted more human connection. It was just not possible.

 

*******************************************

  It was strange how it happened. There was no persuasion on his behalf. No recollection of a trigger. It just happened.

  Seven was in bed dozing off with the television on. It was past 10:30PM. The last he recalled on the television before he fell asleep was a news segment discussing the BSAA. The weight of his eyelids won, as he fell asleep.

_Desert environment. Sunlight. A training scenario. Gun fire. A firearm in his hands. A few more shots. Then a man’s voice._

_“Good job…” followed by a name. “I’m proud of you son.”_

  Seven sat up as he woke up with a rush.

  “Dad!” he called out. He looked around. The desert was gone. It was replaced with his apartment bedroom. Yet still, he looked around thinking he would find something familiar.

_I was there._

  He could still feel the heat from the environment in his dream. Smell the gun powder from the fire arms. The sweat coming down his skin. The man’s voice sinking into his heart.

  Could it have been his dad? A memory?

  “The fuck?”

  He laid in bed for hours. In his mind he thought that he should just discard the dream for what it was, just a dream. He replayed the images in his head over and over. Even when he tried to sleep he would close his eyes and relive it. For a while he believed it could have been a memory. He tried to relax his mind to see if anything else would come to mind. There was hope that another dream or memory could come to play. But it was not working.

_Just a dream. Nothing else._

  Then he convinced himself that the dream was just out of a lonely man’s desire for attention.

_Lonely man’s desire. Great, my Match.com’s profile name. Maybe it will be a better fit for Tinder?_

  Despite his new attempt to convince himself otherwise, the thought of a possible recollection of his past life came back in full force. Perhaps even some excitement in his spirit. The fact that he called out "dad" determined that the man in his dream might have been his father.

  _The father I killed._

  “Stop,” he shook his head as he said to himself. His mind would not stop wondering, thinking, processing. No. It was better off leaving it alone.

_Don’t do it._

  But he had to check on something.

_If you do this, there is no turning back._

  Seven reached over to the nightstand where he grabbed his cell phone. He could not help it anymore. He searched for his past. It was messing with his head.

  His fingers began to search in the phone’s search engine _Killed Parents Blowing Up Building_. Regret and anticipation kicked in. His eyes sharp on the phone screen waiting for the results. Seven held his breath. He was expecting to see his image somewhere within the results.

  But nothing.

_No way._

  Then he tried _Terrorist Kills Parents. Terrorist Blows Up Building. Terrorist Infected._ Yet the results were the same, other than the Oklahoma building incident. Nothing. No story of him killing his parents or blowing up a building. Nor being infected and being shot by police.

  Seven then sat on the side of his bed. His feet planted on the floor. He did what he could not do for so long. Yet, he found no answers. Even though he knows that he committed a terrible act in his past, he wanted to know. He needed to know.

  There was no turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, Nova is inspired by Jodie Foster and Marion Cotillard. A little bit of both their images together.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two star-crossed souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "Can't Keep Runnin'" by Guordan Banks.
> 
> This chapter took me a while due to my job taking a lot of time from me the last few months and I kept changing the direction I wanted for this chapter.
> 
> As I mentioned before, in this AU I am altering the events of RE6. After changing the ideas for this chapter I went into more of Chris and Piers' [Seven's] inner-torment. I wanted to start a bridge between them. A bit of synchronicity with their strong bond despite being far away.

Chicago, Illinois

Two Years Ago

 

_You again!_

  Seven thought this as he was sitting up on his bed. It was not a nightmare. It was not some of the repeated odd dreams that he believed were pieces of his past life as many times before.

  It was _him_. The faceless man.

  His heart beat was steady, despite a sense of adrenaline kicking in. He touched his forehead with the back of his hand and then with his palm. There was no perspiration. He was fine.

  Seven repeated this to himself over and over again as he turned on the lamp next to him on his nightstand. Aside from that, he was trying to retain the image in his head of the man he dreamed about. Another persistent dream similar as to the other ones. The man with the firm, yet warm voice.

  The dream started off with him running in an industrial setting from something or someone- _large and dangerous_. There was the sound of gun fire and a few explosions. The images were fleeing from his mind.

  “Shit, come on focus,” Seven said to himself as he still sat on his bed. He then closed his eyes and kept his breathing steady. “You can do this. What was it?”

_His feet kept moving. The color of fire everywhere. Something really sick was coming after him…and some others. He was trying to recall who these others were. From what he can recall it was people he was helping. A young man, along with a younger woman. No, there was two women. They were all shooting at someone or something._

_The threat was coming for them. For him. And the other man. The man he has dreamed of a few times. Seven could sense that he was injured by something and he needed to save the faceless man. Whatever happened, the faceless man was then holding on to him, assuring him that he was fine and that they were going to make it._

  Then it was over.

  “Damn it,” Seven cursed to himself. He could not remember much. What little he could recall of the dream was slipping away like oxygen out of a hole from a balloon. As he picked up his cell phone from the night stand he saw that the time was 5:14AM.

_You said I was fine. I believed you._

  Seven then turned off the light and laid back down onto bed. He closed his eyes attempting to go back to sleep. After ten, then twenty minutes later he knew he was not going to be able to go back to sleep. Something was gnawing within his stomach. He suddenly had the need to want to feel comfort. A warm touch or the sense that someone familiar would be within reach. Then he felt odd as he realized that he could still feel warmth from when the faceless man was holding him.

_You did something._

  His mind kept going back to the faceless man. Why? He could not figure it out. It was messing with his mind, keeping him awake. Why does this entity in his dreams shake him up so much?

  Seven decided to get up from bed and gave up on trying to go back to sleep. He was in between missions anyways. There was no immediate rush to go off anywhere today. He went into his bathroom where he brushed his teeth and washed his face. His eyes remained closed from rinsing off the soap on his face with water coming from the faucet. As he turned off the faucet and looked up at the mirror in front of him…it happened within a flash.

  Upon his reflection he saw himself briefly in a militant uniform. It came and went in less than three seconds. Despite this being brief he got a good close look at what he wore upon his reflection when it happened: long sleeve top, with a tactical vest, some type of scarf around his neck, and tactical pants. Another trait he caught was no facial hair with his hair combed forward with the front hair tips flipped up.

  And just like that the image reflecting from the mirror was gone and replaced it with his current reflection. Seven then began to rub his eyes. His breathing escalating. The strength in his legs weakened; therefore, he held himself up by firmly grasping onto the top of the sink with his palms as he faced down with his eyes closed. He began to settle down as he saw his normal reflection in the mirror.

  “What the-?” he said. His breathing was stabilizing as he glared at this reflection. Normality sank in as his reflection remained normal. Still present was his connected mustache and goatee with his short militant haircut. A few traces from last week’s mission were present as he continued to stare at his reflection. He traced his fingers over the bruises and small scrapes that were healing on his upper left arm.

  I will always have Dubai, he thought in sarcasm as he lingered on the minor injuries.

  Seven then dried his face with a towel and left the restroom. Before he waked into the kitchen he put on a t-shirt and shorts. Still a bit shaken as he walked into the kitchen with his cell phone in hand, he contemplated what he should do at this time of morning.

_Gym? Coffee? Cyberbully a few Rightwing idiots on social media?_

  Coffee won out today.

  As he sat at the table with his coffee filled mug in front of him, Seven could not help but still think of the faceless man he began to see in his dreams. Like the other dreams before, there were too many questions of what these dreams were.

  Were these normal dreams that someone’s mind manifests or do these originate from within his mind of former life?

  A common factor Seven was beginning to determine was that these dreams were dealt with combat settings. The environments dealt with militant structure, firearms, fleeing, and danger. Perhaps Law Enforcement or being in the Services. They were very real. Such as the times he dreamt to be doing some obstacle training or being involved in combat.

_Memories, perhaps?_

  Seven’s mind went from drifting into the memories of these dreams and now back to the faceless man. There was just something he could not put his finger on it. It was not that this man worried him, unless he was wearing a red and green sweater and a razor glove. As much as he thought about it, Seven could just not grasp what he felt about this.

  Seven focused hard trying to put a face to this person. He closed his eyes thinking that if he can picture the dreams with this man, he could probably make out an image. It was there, somehow or somewhere in his mind he knows he must have seen the faceless man’s face, but all he got was an image similar to an outline of a figure. It sounded crazy. But he knows he saw his face before.

  He gave up and growled out of frustration. All he can recall of this man was that he was a bit taller than him, muscular, strong, maybe short hair, and always by his side.

  The one thing that confused Seven about the faceless man in his dreams was that after waking up he would be left with a yearning for this person to materialize in person. As if he was really hoping this person was around. He thought of it over and over. Why did he want this person to be real? He cannot recall his face, a name, or what he means to him in his life. But there was something there.

  “Damn it!” Seven said out loud and pounded the table out of frustration. “Who are you?”

  Not that he expected a response out of thin air, but Seven felt the need to say this out loud since he had no one to talk to. It has been a lonesome two years since working for Cypher. He hoped that this faceless man was not going to become an imaginary friend due to being alone.

  “Pathetic.”

  But as he thought more about the faceless man, he wondered if this man was someone he knew before. Maybe a relative, a good friend, or a role model he looked up to? Seven could not help how strange this sensation was. The feeling was much like him feeling a sense of comfort. As if his soul needed this person. The sensation of a bond.

  Maybe that was it, he thought to himself. Come to think of it, he felt disappointed whenever he would awaken from these dreams that involved this man.

_Why can’t it be real? I could use someone in my life._

  In the two years he had been serving Cypher, Seven was feeling alone in this world. His tough as nails presentation has held up so far. No one at Cypher has questioned whether he was struggling to hold up. Internally, Seven was struggling. Whether it was the horrible knowledge of what Nova disclosed of his past or just wished he could have some human connection to not feel like a hermit within society.

  These feelings would amplify after the dreams with the images that he believed could be peeks into his past. It was tiresome being alone in this. Hence, the odd feeling he had about the faceless man. There was a spark between them. A connection.

  “God, get a fucking grip,” he scolded at himself. He ran his fingers through his short hair. “It isn’t real.”

  Seven decided he needed more coffee. As he was preparing his coffee he played some music on his cell phone to ease his mind. He decided to play one of his recent favorites, “Can’t Keep Runnin” by Guordan Banks. The easy beat was great to his ears.

_“My heart is yearning for your love, Heaven sent, An angel from above…”_

_"_ _Can’t keep runnin’ in and out of my life, Can’t keep runnin’ in and out of my life.”_

  He stood by the counter as he sipped some more of his coffee, taking in the beat of the song. Then he thought of the faceless man again. It did not hurt that this presence for a few moments took the feeling of loneliness away. Even if it was brief and unrealistic.

  “If I knew you before, thank you,” he said to himself with a slight smile. Then sipped on some more coffee.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Washington D.C.

 

  Around the same time out on the East coast, Chris was struggling with his own issues. He was able to sleep for about an hour, but had been tossing and turning for the last few hours. He checked the time on his alarm clock, it was 4:30AM.

  He was dreading what the day had in store for him. Only an hour of sleep and still have to be at work later in the morning. As much he was dreading it, it was like _Groundhog Day_. Just a repeated cycle, over and over again. A night with little to no sleep and yet still going to work to do it all over again. This shit takes its toll. He was still proud of what he and everyone involved in the BSAA was striving for, that has not changed. But he wished he could actually enjoy that feeling. If it made sense to anyone.

  As tired as he felt on most days like this one, he would get up from bed, brush his teeth, take a shower, and get dressed. Twenty years out from the Air Force and here he was still with that service man structure.

_No complaints. No showing of any cracks. You just keep going._

  Something felt different this time. The lack of sleep and inner worries were just part of the reason. If not, triggered by recent events. The last mission went well. No casualties involving his team. Everyone came home in one piece and their lives. Case closed.

  Who was he lying to? Something did happen and it was fucking with his mind ever since. As much as Jill tried to smooth it out, he just could not forget about the encounter during the mission.

  There were a lot of destinations that are check marked in Chris’ mind for as long he will live. Raccoon City, Kijuju, Edonia, Tall Oaks, and now Dubai may be next.  

  Chris and Jill assembled Alpha Team and headed out to Dubai last week after receiving a tip of some remaining members of Neo Umbrella nesting a small research lab using a “café” as a front.

_Those fuckers never learn._

  Once the location was found they decided to move in after hours when the Neo Umbrella employees would least expect it. Jill remained a few yards away overseeing the mission. Chris and Alpha team went in with their guns ready to put holes in what was left of Neo Umbrella. It was very personal, as much as he did not want to admit it.

 _They took_ him _from me._

  The café had access to additional space to the structure next door along with a large basement where small labs, similar to the knock offs in Kijuju. However, someone else beat them to it. Neo Umbrella employees were found dead, along evidence destroyed. Some of the specimens were up in flames. Remaining files within their database were copied and wiped clean. A real pro beat them to the punch.

  Upon Chris inspecting the building next door he saw a man fleeing. Chris reported to Jill and Alpha team of this as he made chase. The guy was fast, but Chris was determined. After a good chase, Chris caught up with this man. The man was wearing dark clothing, a backpack, and covered his face with ski mask and hoodie. Both engaged in physical combat. This guy; however, was fast and strong. Chris was able to give the prick a few punches, but his assailant’s recovery was unmatched. The guy got away.

  Chris had not engaged anyone this tough since… Albert Wesker. After the Spencer Mansion incident, Wesker was enhanced into an unstoppable force. Chris’ encounters with Wesker in the Artic and Kijuju could attest to that. Thankfully, Wesker was finally dead. As much as Chris did not want to admit it to anyone, he was relieved to know that he will never have to engage in physical combat with Albert Wesker ever again. Wesker was indeed a formidable foe.

  But now the encounter with this masked individual in Dubai, made Chris think of the possibility of another Wesker- _like_ living being out in the world. By the way he moved it was obvious that he was enhanced, like Wesker. The world does not need another Wesker. Neither does Chris. The BSAA would keep tabs on this individual if he was to turn up again. Some BSAA members, along with Jill were calling this individual “Daredevil” amongst themselves.

_Jill needs to lay off Netflix for a bit._

  Chris rubbed his temples as he sat on the side of his bed. He will have to start the day with only an hour of sleep. He took a glance at the clock again. It was 4:51AM.

  “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. “Too early for this.” Chris could not deny the other issue rattling his mind. Engaging Neo Umbrella again two years after the last encounter triggered another memory in relation. Piers.

  It has been two years since the incident in Tall Oaks. Neo Umbrella’s hide out. The very place he last saw Piers. The casualty that still rocks his very core. He can still see the last image he had of Piers.

_Piers was wounded and showing signs of infection. Chris could still hear his own voice pleading with Piers to not stay behind. The freight elevator Piers had pushed him into kept elevating. Piers went out of sight. Then the explosion._

  “No, not now!” Chris grunted out. He used this memory to build a fire within his gut and get out of bed. Chris decided that an early run outdoors would help. It was still very early and his work day did not start for another few hours. A good coping skill to help clear his head. After his run he came back home where showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth.

  Feeling better than he did earlier he was ready to tackle on the day. No stops, no time to pity, no more wallowing. The former Airforce pilot within him was still alive.

_No complaints. No showing of any crack. You just keep going._

The worries of the masked individual he encountered was put aside, for now. Chris was getting himself dressed when thoughts of Piers came to mind. Good thoughts at least. Piers was the only other person Chris knew that had the same structure as he. It must have been the service man lifestyle and mentality. Both were always early or on time for things. They almost moved alike and would finish each other’s sentences.

  Chris found himself smiling at these thoughts. He felt so blessed to have had Piers as his Lieutenant for those three years. Yeah, Piers was a good one. They had so much in common. Piers definitely reminded Chris of himself when he was his age. So determined to succeed. Lived with a strong sense of justice. The morning run he went out on earlier reminded him of the times when Piers would stay over at his home by crashing in one of the guest rooms, only for them to get up early to go run. True service men to the core. Chris would not admit out loud that he loved when Piers would stay over. He truly enjoyed his company.

  His Lieutenant. His Ace. His secret love.

  Lieutenant Piers Nivans.

  The name he recalls seeing on the list of the fallen members of the BSAA. There was even a modest mention with this same name on a memorial located at BSAA headquarters. Chris hated seeing this. As grateful as he and the BSAA was for Piers’ bravery and dedication, Chris’ stomach would always twist into knots whenever he would see these.

_Two years. Two years now since you’ve been gone._

  Chris exhaled loudly. The good thoughts about Piers came to crash only to be replaced with the grim reality of his death. Chris walked over to the guestroom that Piers would sometimes stay overnight when Chris would invite him to stay over. As he observed the guestroom from the doorway he can still picture Piers in there. On days like those, the first thing Chris would see would be Piers getting dressed or doing pushups.

_Always a service man._

  On one occasion when Piers stayed over, Chris went over to the guestroom one morning to see if he was awake and was surprised on that occasion where Piers was still asleep in bed. Upon this discovery, Chris took the time to walk over and observe Piers sleeping. For a moment Chris thought that to Piers and anyone else his observation of Piers could have been seen as creepy. But not to Chris. It was good to see that despite Piers’ disciplined structure, he slept in a bit like anyone else to catch up on rest.

  Within the past two years, the most frequent guest occupying this guestroom was Claire. After the loss of Piers, Claire would visit Chris more often. Chris knew without Claire telling him that she was doing this because he took Piers’ loss and the Neo Umbrella incident harder than anything else. However, he appreciated his younger sister doing this. He knew he would have to return the gesture by visiting her in Chicago more often. He reminded himself of those he still had: Claire, Jill, Barry Burton, and Rebecca Chambers. Those whom he considered the people he can open up to without being judged.

  What he had not been open to them about was his inner feelings of Piers. It just hurt too much at this point to reveal this. There was that and of course the other inner thought Chris was harboring. A sense that Piers was still alive.

  When Neo Umbrella’s facility burned to the ground along with Piers the search began for the investigation process and to find Piers as confirmation if he had survived or died on duty. Chris refused to leave the area until there was confirmation that Piers was dead. He recalled being frantic and verbally aggressive. Jill arrived to assist in the matter, but also was trying her best to calm Chris down. He was medically and psychologically assessed per practice at Ground Zero since he refused to leave. After five days, no remains found. Investigators declared Piers Nivans dead and that his body perished in the ruble.

  Chris refused to believe it. Something inside of him was screaming that Piers was somewhere, alive. He refused to believe that one minute Piers was by his side like any other mission and the next minute he was gone, just like that.

  For weeks after that Chris endured nightmares of Piers calling for his help. Chris would awaken and rush over to the guestroom Piers would sometimes occupy, thinking he would be there. That he had returned. But he was not there. These incidents would leave him with high anxiety. His heart rate accelerating. As his commanding officer, Jill ordered Chris to take extensive time off. This did not help much as Chris spent most of this time drinking throughout the days until he passed out.

  Claire came to visit him from Chicago and found him passed out on the living room floor with a few empty bottles around him. She was worried at first when he was unconscious; however, when he woke up her worry vanished and displayed her disappointment.

  “You are not doing this,” Claire shouted. “We have been through too much for you to waste like this! You are stronger than this!”

  It was here Chris realized that Claire still looks up to him and he needed to get out of this low point, as painful as it was. It was also around this time when he cut back on hard liquor. Claire was right. With everything they had gone through he could not let life’s blows to keep him down. He would let everyone, himself, and _Piers_ down.

_Piers. Where are you?_

  Externally around everyone else, Chris accepted that Piers was dead. Like many of his fallen comrades since Raccoon City. But this was different. His inner feelings for Piers made this loss just as harsh as when he and Claire lost their parents. There so much pain and loss a human being can take. If a slight feeling of hope that Piers was still alive can help ease that pain, he accepted this. But to anyone else it could be a concern for his psyche. So he kept his mouth shut.

  Chris shook himself out of these thoughts as he realized that he needed to get to work. He finished getting ready and drove off in his jeep to headquarters.

_No complaints. No showing of any cracks. You just keep going._

Chris drove off with music playing. The song blasting through the speakers was on he enjoyed. He heard this song a few times. He did not know the name of the song nor the artist, but it had a nice easy beat to it to help get through the day with little sleep.

_“My heart is yearning for your love, Heaven sent, An angel from above…”_

_"Can’t keep runnin’ in and out of my life, Can’t keep runnin’ in and out of my life.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be able to deliver the next chapter sooner than later. Please feel free to leave me feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this. Feel free to leave me feedback.


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